


we click, we go boom!

by strangeparties



Category: SKAM (France), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, and elu somehow made their way into this, featuring onlyfans, robbe and lucas are also roomies, robbe is cute and confident, sander and eliott are roomies, sander is a mess and a half, sorta like a camboy au i guess, then they're not, there's short but explicit af smut at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23078734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeparties/pseuds/strangeparties
Summary: Sander’s ears perk up. “Photos? Do you need it for class? An event? Instagram? CV?”“CV?” Robbe repeats, laughing. The lines around his mouth deepen again. “More likeartfully posed revengefiesfor my onlyfans account. But sure, let’s go with CV, if that’s what you wanna call it.”or: Robbe asks Sander to take his nudes. Sander is weak.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant, Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 8
Kudos: 196





	we click, we go boom!

**Author's Note:**

> my first (and last) sobbe-centric fic, because i don’t know what came over me lol. i can't stress enough how indulgent this is so uhhh i'm sorry. also, if you are familiar with the camboy!lucas fic, this is kind of a very slight remix of that because, again, i can't help myself. enjoy!

“So I have news.”

Eliott’s fidgeting in his seat across Sander, biting at his lower lip - not an unusual sight. In the two years since Sander has met and shared living quarters with Eliott, he’s been an unwitting witness to Eliott alternating between nerves and confidence.

Sander has a hard time imagining why. Eliott is nearly perfect. He begs the adjective because wherever he went people stared, drawn to his veneer of effortless cool; not to mention owning the jawline, physique, and face of a full-fledged Calvin Klein model, chiseled by hundreds of hours of yoga, weights, and intermittent fasting. “Wow, look at this dork taking on the skin of a luxury human,” Sander crows lovingly when Eliott begins posting his modelling portfolio on his instagram because his agent told him to, and Eliott sputters like the total loser he actually is.

He also begs the modifier since it doesn't take much for that veneer to crumble, maybe a couple of conversations littered with awkward punchlines and the occasional obscure film reference, but the alluring aura of suaveness is what most people see first and remember later.

“I’m moving in with Lucas,” Eliott blurts quickly, eating the syllables. Another one of Eliott’s flaws: he isn’t well-spoken when nervous.

Lucas is Eliott’s prickly yet formidable firecracker of a boyfriend. Ever since they met a year ago in some elective they’d apparently taken together, Eliott’s been head over heels for him and Sander gets it, he really does. Lucas is very cute, in that ‘little fawn wants to be a lion’ kind of way. Basically, if you were into munchkins. Nerdy, sassy, irritable, somewhat dramatic munchkins who believed, deep deep down, that they were 6-foot-8 when they’re closer to 4-foot-11. And Eliott is very much into that sorta thing. When Eliott told him he and Lucas had gotten their shit together and made out on their couch, Sander congratulated him. Then secretly said a little prayer for Eliott’s poor dick, because he looked like he was going to be energy-starved soon if the rapidly purpling bruises on Eliott’s neck and back were anything to go by.

Sander frowns around his burger, gingerly setting it down. “You couldn’t have told me this tomorrow? Like, twenty-four hours after we’ve seen _Cats_? I wanted to savour the feeling that there’s hope for all of us amateur directors after seeing a cinematic trainwreck, dude.”

Eliott sighs, running a hand through his messy head of hair. No wonder he hasn’t touched his own grease plate. “I know, I know. But, well — that means. You know.”

Sander quirks an eyebrow. “I know, you know? C’mon. I don’t speak riddle, Eli.”

Eliott gestures vaguely at the space between them. “Robbe,” he says simply.

Sander almost chokes on the burger patty halfway down his throat.

Just as Eliott is Sander’s (soon-to-be former) roommate, Robbe is Lucas’s. Robbe is also the most beautiful, most maddening boy Sander has ever seen.

.

The first time they meet, it’s after one of Lucas and Robbe’s morning runs, an apparent shared habit between them. He and Eliott had been waiting in a cafe, Sander literally dragged along because the coffeemaker in their apartment was busted for the day. Eliott had met Robbe approximately a dozen times, but Sander had only heard of his existence by name. _Lucas said Robbe lost his airpods in the dryer, it was so funny_ , Eliott would tell him before one of their weekly movie nights. _Mmm_ , he’d say half-heartedly, chewing on his pizza slice as slowly tunes Eliott’s rambling out in favor of staring intently at the alien chick from _Mars Attacks!_ currently sauntering across their tv screen. Eliott just tends to be excited with anything that involves Lucas, he reasons.

Sander braces himself for another day with chaotic lion-wannabe Lucas, but is instead surprised to see an entirely new face taking the seat across from him while Eliott and Lucas order coffee for their table. There’s colour high on his cheeks. Sander notices his bone structure right away, immediately loves the contrast of soft skin and sharp bones. There's a strange fineness to his features. His gaze drifts lower; Robbe is in a slightly oversized workout shirt. When he slouches, the neckline sinks low and allows a clear view of Robbe's collarbones. 

Robbe introduces himself, licking his lips as he says _hello_. He had the voice of someone who'd trained himself to sound sweet. And sweet did it sound, effortlessly, a little shaky in what might have been his nervousness. When he sits down, his thighs flex inside tight cycling shorts. Lucas is also in the same shorts (Eliott is really unsubtle with his staring). But somehow, it’s Robbe’s leaner frame which catches Sander’s attention.

“You must be Sander,” Robbe says, looking small, a little awkward, and adorably shy. He flashes Sander a quick half-smile. “I heard you’re from Antwerp, too?” He chuckles softly, and Sander melts inside. “How funny is it that our roommates both get roomed with someone from the same city, huh?”

“It’s funny, yeah,” Sanders says absently, captivated by Robbe’s eyes sparkling in the early morning light. “Or it might be fate.” Then he promptly closes his mouth, because what the fuck was that?

“Fate. That sounds… serendipitous,” Robbe says slowly, lips pulling over the syllables.

Sander clears his throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject in case Robbe notices how much he’s been not so secretly staring at his face. “So, how is it?”

Robbe tilts his head curiously, a few stray fluffy strands falling on his forehead. “How’s what?”

Sander leans, fingers steepled under his chin. Then says, “Being roommates with the spiky son of Satan” in their native tongue. 

“The son of—“ Robbe breaks into a stunned laugh. At that, Sander laughs as well, the weirdly charged atmosphere between them dissipating into the air. When their laughter settles down, Robbe replies in kind: “You absolute _bitch_. If I didn’t like you I’d definitely have told on you. Lulu’s not as fierce as he seems, he’s actually really soft and sweet—“

A smile blooms on Sander's lips. "You like me?"

Robbe scoots closer, keeping his voice low. "What do you think I just said, hm?"

“What are you two laughing about?” It’s Lucas talking above them, pretty face contorted into an expression teetering between bewilderment and suspicion. “Robbe, whatever Sander’s saying — you know better than to listen.”

“Lulu, relax.” Robbe smiles placatingly, grinning at Lucas then at Sander like he knows an inside joke. He lowers his voice into a discreet mumble as if they're people-watching in a crowded Starbucks, and not the only four people out of seven - not counting the baristas - in the entire place. “Sander was just saying he knows where you keep _it_.”

“… What?”

“You know…” Robbe widens his eyes for effect, two index fingers going back and forth in a mockery of a rubber spring. “Big Barney.”

Lucas’s face cycles through a mix of emotions, a roulette wheel of confusion, curiosity, then finally - interestingly - terror. He glares down at Sander, and Sander forcefully swallows the “aw, cute” that’s already parked on his lips. “How the _fuck_ do you know about that?’

Sander raises his arms in defense. “Uhh—“

“Did Eliott tell you?” Lucas says lowly. Dangerously. “I swear to god—“

“Lulu, jeez.” Robbe grabs at Lucas’s arm, pulling him to sit his ass down in a huff. “I’m just kidding. We were just talking about classes. Turns out Sander’s really into movies like Eliott.”

“Well, yeah. They’re in the same major,” Lucas says dryly, irritably kicking at Sander’s shin. He’s fast but his legs are way too short compared to Sander’s, barely reaching him when Sander drags his feet away.

“Yup, you’ve said before,” Robbe replies, humming. He turns big, mischievous eyes towards Sander. “So I assume you’re good at photography, too?”

“Oh, my _god,”_ Lucas groans, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Robbe, I’ve told you. Your photos are fine. I didn’t _have_ to look, but because you asked like fifteen hundred times and I was getting tired of you always hogging the damn bedroom, I had to. Why don’t you believe me, huh? When have I lied to you? Do I _look_ like I have shit taste in photos?”

Robbe smiles serenely. “Nope. Not at all, Lulu.”

Lucas nods, satisfied. “And might I remind you, I have an eye for these things. I mean, my boyfriend _is_ a model.”

“Right, of course.” Then Robbe drops a bombshell into what's already a landmine-filled course. “And _you’re_ a former camboy. Naturally, you know all the best angles.”

A beat.

“WHAT,” Sander splutters, eyes like saucers.

Lucas looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “I thought you knew? That’s partly how Eliott and I met... he was a subscriber on my onlyfans before we met in class?”

Sander gapes. And wishes there's a vat of ammonia somewhere so he could drown himself in it. “Why would I even know that? Or _want_ to know that?”

Lucas shrugs. “I don’t know, where do you go when you jerk off?”

Sander wonders if the baristas would let him crawl under the counter and die undiscovered. Both Robbe and Lucas look like they’re thoroughly enjoying Sander’s slow demise. He wrings his hands at Lucas's question. “Uh, pornhub?”

Lucas laughs. “Wow, someone’s stuck in 2012.”

“His onlyfans was crazy popular. He shot up to #8 on most popular searches six months in,” Robbe quips, sounding oddly proud. _What the fuck._

Lucas rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and turning his nose up. “No, I got to #2 in less time than that, but since that other Lucas from fucking Amsterdam snatched the spot, I had to settle. What gives, right? Not like I couldn’t do the splits, too,” he mutters testily.

“I know, Lulu. Bless Big Barney for his service. May he rest in peace,” Robbe adds consolingly, patting Lucas’s knee.

Lucas’s face is caught between mollified and alarmed. “Hey! You weren’t supposed to mention that!”

Robbe isn't having it, raising a challenging brow. “We already told Sander you used to be a camboy. What’s so embarrassing about your jackrabbit? The one you split in half—”

“ _Robbe!”_

Robbe guffaws, the lines around his mouth splitting and crinkling. It’s not supposed to look so good, those crescents, but to Sander it looks unfairly cute. Then he looks at Sander conspiratorially. This may be the exact moment when Sander understands _exactly_ why Robbe and Lucas are not only roommates, but roommates who get along. They’re pretty alike in a lot of ways, both sent to torture him.

Robbe opens his mouth and sends Sander straight to hell. “So, anyway. I was wondering, since you’re good at photography - and of course I couldn’t ask Eliott to do it or Lulu here will literally skin me alive - if you could take some photos…”

Sander’s ears perk up. “Photos? Do you need it for class? An event? Instagram? CV?”

“CV?” Robbe repeats, laughing. The lines around his mouth deepen again. “More like ‘artfully posed revengefies’ for my onlyfans account. But sure, let’s go with CV, if that’s what you wanna call it.”

Several things happen at once. Lucas snorts unattractively, staring at Robbe in half-horror, half-amazement. Eliott, standing behind Lucas with a tray in his hands, nearly drops their drinks.

And Sander? Well, Sander’s learning a lot today.

He’s kinda into it.

.

Infatuation shouldn’t have this long of a shelf span.

He attributes it to him never once contacting Robbe or even searching for him on social media (or, god fucking forbid, onlyfans) after that morning. Due to misplaced anxiety or fear or the overwhelming feeling of latent horniness bubbling just under his skin, he’ll never know. He doesn’t want to know.

Eliott later tells him over one one of their takeout nights-in that Robbe joined the site a little after Lucas did, primarily to get back at his ex-boyfriend who threatened to leak his privately sent nudes on Grindr where they met. Like Lucas, Eliott relates, Robbe used to be deeply insecure of his sexuality. It’s only after rooming with a gay guy back in Antwerp, and then meeting Lucas and other men of similar orientation in University, that Robbe has grown to be more confident of himself. In fact, Lucas and Robbe’s pre- and post-coming stories are so scarily similar that Eliott’s mind-bending parallel universe theory (apparently nicked from Lucas, because of course) must be reality.

And now Eliott’s leaving. Who’s going to stop Sander from singing _Under Pressure_ off-key at three in the morning? Or massaging Sander’s temples when he gets those godawful migraines from his meds, the one Eliott also gets himself? Or stopping him from sending Robbe _r u dtf_ on instagram messages when he very well knows he just could not, should not?

Sander hasn’t made good on on his promise to take photos. Until it’s a week later, and Eliott’s moving out, hurling himself onto Sander koala-style like he’s off to war and dying in the trenches. In reality, Eliott is only moving an easy ten minutes away by foot. By bike, if he cycled like the cops were on his tail, Sander could get to his place in three. Eliott squeezes him tighter. Eliott is also a Cancer like Lucas and, when the moon is high and Jupiter aligns with Venus in the third house or some shit, absorbs by osmosis Lucas's tendency for hissy fits and/or histrionics.

“Don’t start crying or I’ll wring your neck,” Sander warns while trapped in Eliott’s octopus hold, but a slow-spreading warmth takes the edge off the feeling of being cracked like a chestnut. “We’ll see each other tomorrow, right?”

Eliott wipes at his cheeks, grinning despite himself. For such a good-looking guy with abs like literal buns of steel, Eliott is the dictionary definition of a sensitive loser. Sander rolls his eyes fondly. “Yeah. I’ll bring the bacon-cranberry-saffron muffins.”

Sander moans in imagined agony, because Eliott’s cooking is probably just a few notches above rat poison. “Don’t you _fucking_ dare, asshat! I still have goals. _Life plans._ I ain’t dying before at least thirty.”

“Goals. Okay.” Sometimes when Eliott’s really feeling himself and remembers he looks like a god on earth instead of an overgrown puppy, the devilish CK model side of him comes out. Or when he has ammo and can shoot at an opening, like now. “Well, now that you and Robbe are moving in together—“

“ _Forced_ to move in together, no thanks to you and Lucas,“ Sander reminds.

“Maybe you could get a move on _that_ , huh?” Eliott waggles his eyebrows, looking both handsome as hell and dumb as fuck. Sander loves this big lug so much. “We’re rooting for you, okay. Lucas says Robbe’s definitely been looking all kinds of sad and mopey at his phone ever since you guys met.”

That’s not exactly a sign for Sander do any kind of forward action. Robbe could’ve been looking at sad kitty videos on his phone for all he knows.

.

Sander takes it all back. It’s all definitely a sign.

“We’re not gonna have a problem here, right?” Robbe says evenly when Sander walks in on him naked on his single bed, thin sheets barely covering his hips. In Sander’s defense, the door to Robbe’s room is _open_ and it’s dinner time. He’s just being a good person and an even better roommate, poking his head in to ask Robbe what he’d like to order. Since the move-in a few hours ago, Robbe hasn’t eaten lunch, preferring to sleep the day away after a few somewhat perfunctory, awkward exchanges with Sander.

“I was — just — dinner?” Sander squeaks out, his normally deep register going up several pitches.

Robbe blinks lazily up at him. “Mmm, I’m not supposed to eat yet. Bottoms have to have a certain diet, you know. And I have to take the subscriber-only photos for onlyfans, the ones with a dildo like I promised? They’ve all been up on my case lately about that.”

“Bot— _what_?” Sander’s soul has officially ascended and is floating somewhere close to the stratosphere.

Robbe sighs like Sander is supposed to know all this. “I guess Lucas or Eliott haven’t told you… but we follow a strict diet on days when we have to take dick. Not really the most glamorous or sexy thing, but that’s reality. Don’t you ever wonder why Lucas is so slim? Well, he’s naturally lean anyway, but we’ve all gotta be nice and clean for _those_ days. Otherwise Lulu eats however he wants. And Eliott does the diet, too, when he bottoms. Guess you haven’t noticed since he mixes it with whatever fasting he does for his modelling.”

Sander’s takeaway is: “So… they _schedule_ sex?”

Robbe giggles, shoulders shaking. He sits up elegantly. The sheets pool around his his crotch and Sander determinedly fixes his gaze on everything from Robbe’s neck up. “Well, no and yes? No in the sense that anal isn’t the be-all, end-all of gay sex. And yes, because they pretty much just go for it with handjobs and oral when they’re in the mood but both of them are also _super_ in the mood for steak and burgers that day.”

“…. This is way too much information and I’m also too sober for this conversation.” Sander didn’t expect to be unraveling the complexities of gay sex with his brand spanking hot new roommate who just moved in a few hours ago, but life’s all about taking him by surprise these days.

Robbe sits back languidly, like a cat stretching. His skin is like milk; Sander wants to set the lights to capture the contrast between black and white as Robbe spreads out on the dark sheets. “You’re the one who asked. And anyway, if you’re not gonna help, I have to figure out the logistics of these photos. I can’t exactly pretzel myself into the splits and take nice photos with my legs on either side of my head. Don’t know how Lucas did it, honestly, that guy’s a beast.”

Sander grimaces. “Again, too much info.” He pauses a beat, reconsidering. Robbe’s now looking at him with something akin to a heated question; he has to drop his eyes and hold a fist to his mouth in case he wails something stupid like, “FUCK ME SIDEWAYS, WHY ARE YOU SO SEXY!”

Thankfully he stops himself in time and ends up saying, “So. About those photos. I can help?”

There’s a stretch of silence. Sander’s afraid he may have ruined the moment.

Then, amazingly, Robbe gets on all fours and crawls towards him, the sheets forgotten in a sad heap by the bedside. His nipples are peaked. Sander can’t take his eyes off Robbe’s cock, short but thick, beautifully chubby.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Robbe purrs, a mixture of lust and _intent_ coming off him in waves.

.

Robbe uses his body as if it’s something precious: he licks Sander’s cock awake with kittenish swipes, lubes himself up with what Sander hopes is unexpired KY jelly nestled inside Eliott’s abandoned nightstand, straddles Sander’s hips like a man desperate for a glimpse of oasis in the desert. Sinks into him slowly, inch by inch, stops to breathe. Rides him into the mattress with the determination of someone who wants to impress. Sander’s hips buck up into the heat, his breath nearly taken away. Robbe (and Lucas and Eliott, he thinks fleetingly then regrets it) really know what they’re talking with that bottoming thing. Robbe feels so impossibly good wrapped around his length like a vice, so tight and open and _wet._

“T-talk to me,” Robbe demands into Sander’s neck, crying out as Sander’s cock shifts inside him.

“Talk - _ugh shit_ \- how?” Sander grunts, pushing himself up as his embrace around Robbe tightens.

“Like - like you - _fuckkkk -_ like you mean it,” Robbe pants. He doesn’t stop bouncing as he looks Sander straight in the eye, gaze half-lidded and pupils blown. “Don’t let—“ Another thrust, “that big cock—“ The sharp sounds of skin against skin, “go to waste—“ Sander’s nails grip tight on Robbe’s hips, “with small talk.”

“How do you want it?”

“Please, god—“

“You need it bad?”

“Yes, shit, shit—“

Sander thinks of Robbe teasing him that day in the coffee shop. His laughing eyes. His delicious mouth. His raw want, his aching heat. He fucks into him mercilessly, earnestly. He leans close, so close he can reach out and bite Robbe’s lower lip. “You’re still hopeless for your ex? Do you wanna be his forever? Or do you wanna be mine?”

“Y-yes,” Robbe cries out, looking at Sander in _awe._ “Yours. I like that. F-fuck me brainless so I don’t even remember him.”

“How long? Today? Tomorrow? The year?”

“Longer _._ Maybe forever _,”_ Robbe strains to gasp, head tipping back as orgasm approaches, panting with delirious joy. Even when they’re fucking like this, Robbe doesn’t miss the opportunity to tease. “I-if you’re lucky — don’t — don’t stop, so good, too much, please, _please_.”

Sander, an avid follower of instructions, doesn’t stop.

.

“I think I’ll keep these for myself,” Sander says later into the wee hours of the night. He’s taken a few shots of Robbe in just his briefs, then some of Robbe with his briefs pulled down, just at the back, exposing the soft curve of his cheeks. In the photos, he's looking at Sander from over his shoulder, lips parted, eyelids droopy. He’s _beautiful_. He might be getting ahead of himself, but he doesn’t want anyone else to see this.

Ever.

“Sure. I won’t even post them anymore,” Robbe says quietly.

Sander would love nothing more, but he doesn’t want to presume anything. “They’re _your_ photos. Your body. What you do with them is none of my business. And what about your account? Your ex?”

Robbe shrugs an elegant shoulder. Sander wants to dive into the bed again and kiss him breathless.

“I think,” Robbe begins, smile steadily growing wider, “I have the only fan I’d need right here. That is — if you want to?”

Sander grins back. "That was cheesy." 

Robbe winks. "Hey, if it works. Was the pun okay?"

Sander drops his eyes to half-mast. He thumbs the shutter button, Robbe's gaze following like a homing device. "We'll work on it."

The camera flashes.

**Author's Note:**

> wow i'm never writing sobbe again /sweats 
> 
> please feel free to yell at me on tumblr @ pinkplanetaries :)


End file.
